7 The Civil in the War
by Interest Me
Summary: Our heroes seem to step backward in time to solve the case of a murdered Confederate soldier. A journey that forces Booth to experience again his time as a soldier and a sniper. Brennan is there to comfort him this time.
1. Chapter 1

The Civil in the War

Chapter One

Susan H.

The youngest soldier, Billy, wandered away from the fire. He shoved a wad of tobacco between his cheek and gum and returned the tobacco to his knapsack. He settled to the ground, and laid his head on the knapsack. He closed his eyes and listened as a harmonica sang a soft song to the night.

A crack and flash destroyed the peaceful night.

"Damn Yanks!" he heard Johnny shout. Boots kicked the fire out as more shots and flashes tore through the camp. Billy spit out his wad and grabbed his musket. He lay on his stomach and used his elbows to pull himself to the cover of some brush.

He lay next to another soldier who had found the hiding place first. The two didn't move. The battle raged, and he heard some in his unit cry out. He heard bodies hit the ground, and felt guilty to be safely hidden. He was reassured by the soldier next to him. At least he wasn't the only one hiding.

Eventually, the battle sounds died. Billy listened as the wounded moaned, and others tended to them. He saw shadows as other soldiers came out of hiding. Leather boots thumped inches from his face. He listened to deep voices muttering. He caught an occasional word, "retreated," "ambush", "gone now," "couldn't catch 'em,". The voices reassured him and he fell asleep.

***

Billy opened his eyes with the rising sun, and the other soldier grinned, and stared at him with empty eye sockets. Billy screamed, and the skeleton's frozen smile mocked him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I'm sorry I forgot to put this at the beginning of chapter one. This story is the 7th story in a series. To enjoy it best, the stories should be read in the following order:**

**1. The Memory in the Amnesia**

**2. Booths R Us**

**3. The Death in the Vow**

**4. Birthday Suits in a Suite**

**5. Athena and Tarzan**

**6. Sweets Please Help**

**This story is also a 2 parter. This is part one of two.**

**The Civil in the War**

**Chapter Two**

**Susan H.**

"A skeleton in full Confederate gear," Booth said as Brennan snapped pictures. "So Bones, can you estimate time of death. Say a century or so?"

"No, his uniform is natural fibers. It would not have survived in these conditions."

Booth stared at her.

"Oh, sorry, you were joking."

"He was found by William Sconce, a 16-year-old from Jersey. His father thought engaging the boy in his first Civil War Reenactment might be therapeutic."

"Therapeutic?"

"Yeah, the kid has been getting into some trouble at home. Drinking, smoking pot, vandalism. Dad thought this might be a good bonding experience."

"Why Confederate? Seems to me, choosing the winning side might have been more uplifting."

"You may be right, because this certainly didn't work. The boy slipped away, and got high. He came back to the fire, and apparently, the whole scenario was a "buzz kill" for the kid, so he slipped away again."

"Hmm so how did he find this guy?"

"A firefight broke out, and he crawled over here to hide. I suppose the mix of marijuana, cheap confederate whiskey, and a fake firefight were too much for him to handle, and he freaked. My guess is he just passed out, and woke up next to this guy."

"He apparently died from blunt for trauma to the head."

"Murder it is then."

"Very probably. There is still a lot of soft tissue under the uniform. Cam may be able to tell us a bit more."

"Well, this Confederate soldier did what Dad couldn't do."

"What do you mean?"

"If I woke up next to him, I'd never touch the stuff again. I mean, it's not like he woke up next to an unattractive woman twice his age that had looked like a princess through blurry nighttime eyes."

"So what's that like?"

"Well, you don't want to hurt her feelings, but you start looking for an escape… hey!"

"I learned my interrogation skills from the best," Brennan smiled.

"Yeah, well, you just do your job and leave the interrogating to me."

Brennan laughed. "To the Jeffersonian."

"Everything gets shipped to the Jeffersonian," Booth announced to his agents.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Another reminder: This story is the 7th story in a series. To enjoy it best, the stories should be read in the following order:**

**1. The Memory in the Amnesia**

**2. Booths R Us**

**3. The Death in the Vow**

**4. Birthday Suits in a Suite**

**5. Athena and Tarzan**

**6. Sweets Please Help**

**This story is also a 2 parter. This is part one of two. Now is a good time to go back and read any that you missed. I welcome your reviews. Thanks!!**

The Civil in the War

Chapter Three

Susan H.

Cam and Brennan looked at the corpse.

"Marks on the soft tissue show this man was repeatedly jabbed with a blunt object approximately 1 centimeter in diameter."

"That coincides with my findings on the skull."

"I also found these marks," Cam pointed, "which indicate he was also beaten with a rod type instrument, but the blows seemed cushioned somehow."

"Probably with natural cotton," Hodgins announced as he entered the platform.

"I found particles of varnish, wood, and cotton fibers, when I swabbed the skull."

"Interesting mix. The longer marks indicate that the weapon also contained ridges," Cam said.

"This guy was hard core, certainly not a farb," Hodgins said.

"Farb?" Brennan asked.

"Yeah, that's the term used by civil war re-enactors to describe a person using unauthentic materials. Polyester, for instance, was not available in the 1860's. This guy though, he is authentic right down to his ankle length drawers."

"Thomas Kincaid," Angela announced. "He was reported missing 4 weeks ago by his mother."

She swiped her card and climbed the platform.

"Here's the report," she handed a file to Brennan.

"How can these people do this? Reenact a war over and over. I mean, they call that fun?" Angie said.

"Well, anthropologically, peoples have retained their histories by reenacting. Think about Christmas pageants and even pilgrimages where people attempt to walk in the footsteps of their prophet."

"Yeah, well, this is the age of computers, televisions, and books. I don't see the need to immerse myself in one of our most bloody wars."

"No Angela, it's like immersing yourself in history. I think it would be an excellent way to observe civilization at that time. I mean, how much better we could understand a soldier's wife's plight, if we are wearing a corset and leather boots."

"Okay Sweetie, that's your thing. I don't need to get it on that deep level. I'll stay here, in the land of the free."

"You know, more slavery exists today around the world than in the history of mankind. What if we energized ourselves to eradicate it?"

"You're right Brennan. Forgive me. I know closing my eyes doesn't make it go away, but it helps me get through the day," Angela said and walked back to her office.

Brennan pressed speed dial on her phone.

"Booth, we have an ID, and cause of death."


	4. Chapter 4

The Civil in the War

Chapter Four

Susan H.

Brennan and Booth sat at a kitchen table.

"Mrs. Kincaid, we are sorry for your loss," Booth said to the crying woman. She dabbed her eyes.

"I miss him so much. This is his house you know. Some people thought he was a mama's boy. He's 24, and has already owned this house for 3 years. I was so proud of him. He invited me to move in after his father died last year."

"Did he have a girlfriend?"

"He talked about a woman named Marisol. He said she was very pretty, and they were getting along well. She attended some of the same reenactments. I don't think they were dating yet."

"Do you know her last name?"

"No, Tommy didn't tell me. Like I said, I don't think they were dating yet. He expected her to be there this weekend."

"This weekend?"

"Yes, Tommy called it lightweight. There are many different levels of reenactments. Tommy, he liked to be authentic. He loved camping old style, and the camaraderie. He works hard during the week, and these outings helped him relieve stress.

"Much like what hunting and fishing weekends do for others," Brennan said.

"Yes, I think so. This weekend is more like a festival. He was scheduled to take part in some scripted reenactments. He said there would be a lot of farbs and non-participants. It's just a laid-back weekend for families, and shopping. There is even a campground available with trailer hook-ups. That wasn't his style. He really liked her."

"Mrs. Kincaid, do you know where this festival is being held?" Booth asked.

She pushed herself up and left the kitchen. She returned with a brochure and handed it to Booth.

"This is very helpful. Just a few more questions Mrs. Kincaid. Did Tommy have any enemies? Was he in any trouble?"

"No, Agent Booth."

"Is there someone you can call?"

"I can call my neighbor."

***

When they were outside, Brennan grabbed Booth's arm.

"Booth, can we do this one undercover?"

"What? Why?"

"I think it would be interesting, anthropologically."

"I'm not an anthropologist."

"How about this then? Wouldn't you just love to be my soldier boy coming home to your southern belle?"

"Using your feminine wiles to get your way on a case is unprofessional Bones. I'm surprised at you. I blame Angie."

"I'll call you Sir with a southern accent."

"Yeah, okay, I'll see what I can do."

They climbed into the SUV, and Brennan read the Brochure.

"Look Booth, pack your dress grays, a truce is called on Sunday, and there will be dinner and a dance. I'll bring a ball gown."

"Tell me again, why am I a Confederate?"

"It was implied."

"I don't recall."

"When I promised to call you Sir with a southern accent."

"I see."

"It doesn't work in a northern accent. Sir. Sir. See, nothing special."

"I have to agree with that. So, are we plantation owners?"

"No. Let's be southern merchants disaffected by a federal government that supports the more industrialized northern states."

"As a federal agent, I feel uncomfortable fighting for the side that seceded from the Union."

"Well Thomas Kincaid fought as a confederate. This will bring us closer to his associates."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"I like to think so."

"Can I at least have the last word?"

"You can try."

"Okay, last word."

"Not anymore."


	5. Chapter 5

The Civil in the War

Chapter Five

Susan H.

Three days later, Friday, Booth picked up Brennan and they began their long ride deep into Virginia country. They reached the campground, and Booth hooked the trailer up to modern conveniences. He built a fire as Brennan set up some camp chairs and a table. The two sat drinking beer, and snuggled under one blanket.

"Look at all the stars. There are so many stars out here."

"No, actually there are exactly the same number of stars in this sky and in the sky over DC," Brennan answered.

"Yes, but the view is better here."

Silence.

"Well Bones, you know, I'm off to war tomorrow. There's a chance I won't return," he said while tickling her ear with his finger.

"Has that line worked for you before?"

"I never used it."

"Didn't you have anyone waiting for you at home?"

"No. I didn't want to leave anyone behind."

"That seems sad tonight, under the stars."

"I'll tell you about it some time."

"Does playing soldier worry you?"

"I'm not sure. I know it's not real, but it does stir up some unexpected feelings."

She reached over and squeezed his inner thigh. She massaged it through his jeans. She watched Booth close his eyes and sink into the feeling.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to wait. Tell me about not wanting to leave anyone behind."

"When I was a soldier, I was full of the mission. I believed in it, I supported it, and I was sure there was nothing more important for me to do."

"Yes, you're still that way. Slightly different mission."

"In some ways. Yet, far away from home, I felt an emptiness, and sometimes that allowed the doubts to creep in. My fellow soldiers filled that void. We grew close, reassured each other, built each other up, and reminded ourselves about the big picture. It's a special bond. I trusted those soldiers with my life."

"I have observed your bravery, protectiveness and skill for years. If I were a soldier, I would feel comforted knowing you were there."

"Thanks Bones. I feel the same about you. I'd just worry a little bit about being distracted."

She squeezed his thigh and continued working the muscles.

"Go ahead," she said.

"I'll try. I'm a bit distracted. Anyway, there still came times when it was just me, death, and the emptiness. During those times, the yearning set in. I just wanted someone soft, loving, and accepting that could absorb me. She could see past my doubts, through my fears, help me trust myself again."

"So having someone waiting at home should have been a great comfort."

"Yeah, but you know what. That vague need, that yearning, it had no focus. If it had a target, like a sweet face waiting at home, it would have turned into excruciating pain."

Silence

"What's wrong Bones?"

"I don't know. I just feel this longing to reach back in time and soothe the young soldier you used to be. It's completely irrational."

"Sometimes, Bones, when you allow yourself to feel the moment, it can get a bit irrational."

"That, I am learning."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Writing is primarily a solitary pursuit. That's the reason that forums like this provide such a refreshing break. I write for hours on pieces on which I know I may never receive any feedback. On the reverse side, they may make money or win contests. Please continue to make this venture worthwhile for me. I appreciate all sincere reviews. Hearing from the readers is the most important reason I post here. Thanks so much. --Susan**

The Civil in the War

Chapter Six

Susan H.

Booth closed his eyes again. Brennan laid her head on his shoulder. Her hand became more explorative. Booth reduced himself to senses: the smell of wood smoke, soft occasional breeze on his face, Brennan's breath on his neck, the sound of distant campers, cricket chattering, and Brennan's skilled hand. He floated on the sensations as long as he could tolerate it.

He stood up and pulled Brennan up.

"What are we doing?"

"Feeling the moment," he said and led her to the camper.

Once inside, Booth slouched some. The ceiling was tall enough, but uncomfortably close to his head. He sat, and Brennan sat beside him. He stroked her cheek and softly kissed her.

Booth slipped his arms around Brennan, and sat quietly for a few minutes.

"Temperance, I need an update. How do you feel about our marriage?"

"There are times, especially at work, when everything will look ugly and hopeless, and then I remember that I have you all to myself. I remember that I share this with you now, and the despair leaves."

"That's nice Bones."

"But then I immediately berate myself for being weak. Does marriage make a person weak?"

"I don't know. Maybe it just lets us work half as hard. Like two people lifting heavy furniture."

"Yes, but if I only work half as hard, eventually, I'll lose strength."

"I suppose there are new challenges to work your muscles."

"What kind of new challenges?"

"Marriage."

Booth kissed her again.

"You didn't shave today."

"Nope. I thought it would be more authentic."

He kissed her again. She stroked his face.

"Temperance, can we go lay in the bed? I just want to stretch out, and it's cramped here."

The stepped up two small steps to a platform that held a queen sized mattress. Booth removed his shoes and jeans. Brennan did the same.

Booth stretched out on the bed, and Brennan lay on his shoulder.

"It's a thin line between cozy and cramped. Now it feels cozy." Booth said. He slipped his hand under her shirt and ran his finger tips over her velvety skin. He felt her breathing deepen. He widened his scope and included her sides, and the soft, delectable band of flesh below her navel. He remembered the tattoo that wore off weeks ago.

He watched Brennan's face. Her eyes were closed, and she was still. At the campfire he'd closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensations. He hoped she was doing the same.

He ran his tongue around her navel, and felt her body rise. His tongue drew zigzags as he reached down and stroked her ankle. Her moan sent pleasant shocks through his body. He trailed fingers slowly up her leg, and fondled the back of her knee.

He pulled her shirt up with his mouth to expose more soft skin. Brennan arched her back and moaned again. She bent her knees, and he took advantage of the greater access to tickle the backs of her thighs.

Brennan reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. Her hands slid smoothly over his back and arms. He answered her tug by laying his face next to hers. She pulled his bottom lip into her mouth, and his muscles tightened deep inside. She bit softly and suckled his lip. A moan stuck in his throat. He felt her shiver.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she slowly released his lip. He laid his hand on her hip, and his thumb pressed firm circles in the crease at the top of her leg.

"I've never told a man I loved him."

"I know Temperance."

He pressed his mouth into the base of her throat.

"But reason number two that I know you love me, is your desire to reach back and comfort me as a young soldier."

"What was reason number one again?"

"You brought me something to drink when we were both too tired to move."

"Oh yeah," she said as Booth took possession of her mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

The Civil in the War

Chapter Seven

Susan H.

Brennan woke earlier than Booth and entered the tiny bathroom to wash-up and brush her teeth. She wet her hair, and cut a sharp part straight down the middle. She pulled it back and fastened a bun at the nape of her neck. Dressing today would be quite a production. She slipped on a robe.

She slid the door open and saw Booth sitting up in bed at the other end of the camper. She crawled onto the bed and leaned against his sleep-warmed body. He kissed her head.

"Good morning lady," he said touching her antique hair-do.

"Good morning Sir," Brennan answered, as promised, in her best southern accent.

Booth grabbed her and pulled her on top of him, "Now that just drives me crazy," he said into her laughing mouth.

He untied her robe and pulled her against him, kissing her neck and nipping at her ears. She tried to speak, but he probed her mouth with his tongue, moving his body enticingly against hers. His hands were everywhere, and she fought to catch her breath.

"Don't you have a war to fight?"

"We'll be quick," he whispered.

"I can do that."

***

Brennan felt the whole trailer shake as Booth tried to dress. She heard him bang, what she suspected was an elbow, and heard his muffled response. Finally, he stepped into the main area, standing tall in a loose muslin shirt, grey woolen trousers, and suspenders.

"I find suspenders extremely sexy," Brennan smiled.

"Braces, they're called braces." Booth put on his grey wool jacket, fastened the metal buttons and stood before her, a soldier.

"Well," she said. The word dashing came to her mind. He put on his hat.

"You look," she said.

"Yes?"

"Unexpected." She approached him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. For a moment, she felt she was sending him off to war, and this may be their last kiss. Booth squeezed her waist. They swayed in the embrace, Brennan couldn't let go. Booth finally released her.

"I guess duty calls," she said.

"It always does."

She held his hand until he was out the door and down the steps.

"Have fun," she said, mostly to remind herself it was just a festival. She watched him walk until the trees consumed her view.

She closed the door and began the complicated process of dressing. The plain white drawers perplexed her the most. They modestly reached below the knee, and yet the crotch seam was completely open. She tied the drawstring at the waist, and the undergarment resembled balloons. Next she slipped on a loose, shapeless chemise that completely covered the ugly drawers.

The corset stood at attention. She stared at it. It did not cower. She grabbed it and wrestled it into place, pressed tightly over the chemise and the top of her drawers. She contorted admirably to set and tie the laces. As soon as she won the struggle, she needed the bathroom. It was then that she understood the ingenious design of the drawers.

She sat experimentally. Convinced she could breathe, she slipped on the first cotton stocking, which she secured with a simple elastic garter just above the knee. She sat straight and panted for a moment. Sitting straight worked well, but bending prohibited breathing. She inhaled and grabbed the second stocking. After securing it, she again sat up to catch her breath.

Looking at her shoes, she made a note to don the stockings and shoes before the corset, tomorrow. However, this day, she did manage, but needed to rest, breathe and allow the flush to leave her face before approaching her dress. She sipped some water, opened her fan, and waved it quickly.

She stepped into her first petticoat. She chose 2 petticoats with ruffles, one yellow, and one green because her research showed that Victorian ladies loved color, and they didn't need to match. She examined herself in the mirror, the petticoats sharply contrasted with the bland, unattractive undergarments, like a butterfly shedding a cocoon.

Finally, the solid purple dress covered the multiple under layers. The full skirt and sleeves arrogantly claimed more space than any garment should. Brennan was grateful for the corset when she buttoned the snug bodice.

No respectable lady could leave her home without a head covering. Brennan had seriously considered playing a non-respectable woman, just for the freedom of movement. However, she grabbed a straw, summer hat decorated with flowers and ribbons, and swished to her purse. She filled her voluminous side pockets with the purse's contents, including her gun.

She first wanted to browse the sutlers, or vendor stands, and look for Marisol. She decided, based on her name, to concentrate on women who appeared to be of Spanish descent.

Brennan stepped out of the trailer. Even though she wore 6 layers of clothing, and considered herself quite liberal minded, the drawers made her feel undressed. She pushed it out of her mind and headed for the festival.


	8. Chapter 8

The Civil in the War

Chaper Eight

Susan H.

Brennan strolled among the sutler tents interspersed throughout the trees. Music floated from small wooden stages carrying attendees back in time. Brennan observed that many in attendance wore jeans and modern clothing. Some wore clothes that weren't authentic, but invoked the mood of the festival. She also passed women dressed much like she was, and concentrated on them. She reasoned that if Marisol frequented these events, she'd dress the role.

She stood next to a dark haired woman rummaging through bins of metal and shell buttons. She wore a simple bonnet and a smile.

"Good morning," Brennan said.

"Good morning. This is a lovely selection of buttons, don't you think?"

Brennan picked through the buttons. She lifted a pearly shell button.

"I agree."

"My name is Amanda. You look like a new face."

"I'm Temperance. I am new."

"I love your dress. You've done well for a first timer. There is nothing farby about you. I am going to get some tea. I haven't had breakfast yet---honestly, it's hard to fit breakfast into this corset, would you like to join me?"

"Why thank you Miss Amanda, I would love that."

The two women sauntered to a booth. Brennan ordered tea and toasted bread with peach jelly.

"So, Temperance, what led you here?"

"My husband. He is reenacting a battle today. How long have you been attending these?"

"Oh, five years or so. My husband is a fanatic. I never really got it, but over the years, I've made some good friends and had some good times. So, I suffer cheerfully. Today is a comfortable set-up. Truly authentic weekends are still grueling for me."

"Why do you attend them?"

"Well, as I said, I've made friends. This is a friendly bunch. They imitate the hospitality of a century ago, particularly if you are authentically dressed. You can expect a lot of sociable introductions today."

"I welcome that. So, other than shopping, what will you do today?"

"I will probably use the day to visit. There are activity booths set up. You can knit wool socks for the soldiers. They are actually donated to charities. They are trying to make it fun for the general public, so I'm sure there will be plenty of farby activities too."

A group of "soldiers" walked through the people playing drums and bugles, and carrying flags. People turned to follow them.

"They are getting ready to start a reenactment. Would you like to go watch?"

"Yes."

Brennan and Amanda fell in line.

At the "battlefield" one of the re-enactors gave an informative speech to the onlookers. Brennan searched for Booth among the soldiers. She thought she saw him, when a loud boom vibrated her body. Cannon fire signaled the beginning of the battle.

Brennan lost sight of Booth in the activity. She and Amanda left the field after the battle ended.

"They'll stage four more battles today. The guys will probably have time to wander around a bit today. I think I'll go to the tent and knit, would you like to join me?"

"No, I don't knit, but thank you. I'm going to look around."

"I'm sure we'll run into each other again. Nice to meet you Temperance."

"Bye Amanda."

Brennan wandered past booths and tents full of civil war merchandise. She thought some of it looked quite genuine, and admired the workmanship of leather goods, fire arms, even musical instruments. On the other hand, she saw that much of the offerings were clearly meant for the naïve, and less serious collectors.

She spotted a dark haired woman, dressed in a yellow, calico print dress, inspecting parasols. She walked to the tent and picked up a parasol. She smiled at the woman.

"Hello. I'm new at this. Are these parasols authentic?"

"Yes, and of good quality," the woman responded with a faint Spanish accent."

"My name is Temperance."

"I am Marisol," she said and held her hand out.

Brennan squeezed it.

"What do you think of this one?" Brennan asked her and opened a white cotton parasol.

"I think it is lovely, and a good price."

"Yes," Brennan said in a low voice, "and it could make a great weapon."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm sorry, I was talking to myself." Brennan pulled money from her pocket and bought the parasol.

"So, parasol, Marisol. Sounds like poetry," Brennan teased.

"Yes, I have a collection of them at home."

"Why aren't you carrying one today."

"I grew up in Puerto Rico, I love the sun."

"I see."

The two women walked together.

"Actually, I am looking for a friend who I believe has a parasol for me," Marisol admitted.

"Oh?"

"Yes. His name is Tomas," Marisol said using the Spanish pronunciation.

"Thomas? Is he in the reenactments?"

"Yes, he is. He is a confederate soldier, along with my husband Luther."

"How did Thomas get your parasol?"

"He gave it to me, at a West Virginia reenactment five weeks ago. Luther became angry, and returned it to Tomas. So, I guess I am rebelling a bit. I refuse to carry a parasol until I get that one back. I am sorry. I have always been an open book. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everything, but I forget it makes those on the mainland uncomfortable."

"No, not at all. I don't mind listening."

"Well, Luther was jealous of Tomas, so he returned the parasol."

"Temperance, I see you've met Marisol," Amanda said approaching them.

"Yes, she helped me choose a parasol."

"Marisol, your dress is so pretty. Is that the one you were working on last month?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you Amanda. I am going to leave you two ladies for now. I will see you in a little bit."

Marisol walked away.

"I'm surprised she's here."

"Why?"

"Poor Marisol, she just can't stop herself from talking. She filed for divorce. This was always Luther's hobby. She just made the best of it. Luther would call her his Creole mistress. Considering the setting, Marisol found it degrading."

"Yeah. What a prince. She said she was looking for Thomas."

"Thomas. He's such a sweet man. The other women and I would talk sometimes. Luther was just, well, a bastard to Marisol. Some of the women believed he even hit her, but she denied it. We all thought that she and Thomas would end up together eventually."


	9. Chapter 9

The Civil in the War

Chapter Nine

Susan H.

Brennan strolled through the festival for the rest of the day. She talked with Amanda several times, and met a dozen more women, but she didn't see Marisol again. She finally found Booth at suppertime, standing in line with soldiers accepting metal bowls of stew.

His shoulders slumped, and his hair pointed in all directions. His hat was tucked under his arm, and his jacket unbuttoned. Brennan noted that a layer of grime darkened the sections of his face visible around his thickening beard.

"Good evening Sir," she said. He turned to her, and she saw his eyes held a complicated story.

"Hey Bo…Temperance. Look at you! Is that an umbrella?"

"Parasol," Brennan said and opened it. "For blocking the sun, not the rain. See, the wooden handle? Approximately a centimeter in diameter, and it's covered with white cotton. And the slats, when closed, form ridges." Brennan closed the parasol to emphasize her point.

"That's my girl," Booth said and put his arm around her waist. "Are you wearing body armor?" he asked.

"Practically."

"Temperance, is this your husband?" The ever-present Amanda asked.

"Amanda, yes, this is Seeley."

"Pleased to meet you sir," she offered her hand.

"Amanda, I haven't seen Marisol since noon. Is she doing okay?"

"I think she's fine. This is an emotional time for her. She went to her trailer to rest. I expect her to be along soon for supper."

"Tell her I said hello. I was just telling my husband how she helped me choose this parasol, and how friendly all of the women have been."

"I'll tell her. Oh, Johnny! Please excuse me. I have to go see my husband."

"So you met Marisol?"

"Yes, I'll fill you in at the camper."

"Did you hear her call me sir? I think I'm in paradise."

Brennan smacked his arm. She sat with him as he ate his stew, and large chunk of bread.

"How does it taste?"

"Surprisingly good."

"Look, I see Marisol, in the yellow dress."

Booth spotted her. "Where did she get the bruise?"

Brennan saw Marisol's swollen cheek.

"That's new. There is a rumor that her husband may hit her."

"Who is her husband?"

"His name is Luther."

"Excuse me," Booth said and stood up. Booth walked quickly with his head down and bumped a soldier in the shoulder, but Brennan clearly saw Booth kick the man's feet from under him.

"Oh, hey buddy, I'm so sorry. Here let me help you up," Booth held out his hand. The man's uniform was soiled with stew and he glared at Booth. He ignored the hand and stood on his own.

"Watch where you're walking son," The man said.

"I'll be more careful. Look, at least let me get you some more stew."

"Just leave me be," the man said and limped away.

Booth returned to his stew.

"That was Luther," Booth said, "he twisted his ankle in the field today."

"Are you sure that's the right Luther?" Her question was answered when the man sat next to Marisol.

"Ah, even if I was wrong, I didn't like the guy anyway."

"You don't hit people you don't like. You were listening to your gut."

Booth shoved a spoonful in his mouth, "Yeah, and now I'm feeding it," he said around the stew.

Brennan watched the stew disappear from the bowl, and then Booth sop up the last few drops with his last bite of bread.

"I guess making war makes you hungry."

Booth stood and offered Brennan his hand. She accepted it gratefully, and pulled herself up. The corset was really taking a toll. They walked to a bin, and Booth dumped his bowl and spoon, and they headed to the camper.


	10. Chapter 10

The Civil in the War

Chapter Ten

Susan H.

Booth held open the camper door, and Brennan swished in. Booth followed and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"I can't feel you, how many layers are you wearing?"

"I think six. I almost ruptured a disc getting dressed," Brennan said as she removed her hat and spun it across the camper.

Booth laid his head on her shoulder, and tried to undo the buttons on her bodice.

"Here, let me. Your fingers are too large." Brennan fiddled with each button until it released. Booth could then reach a small portion of her neck and kiss it. He pulled the dress back and off her shoulders. He rubbed his hands along her arms.

"Why is this dress still stubbornly on?" he whispered in her ear.

"There's another fastener in back of the skirt."

Booth ran his fingers along the back of the waistband until he found it and unhooked it. He then tugged the skirt down until Brennan could step out of it.

"That's the first layer," he said.

He untied and loosened the laces on the back of the corset. Brennan raised her arms over her head, and he slipped the corset up and over. She took a deep breath and relaxed her back muscles. Her chemise clung damply to her skin. Booth wrapped his arms around her waist again.

"MMMM, I can feel you. Bones, what is this thing?"

"It's called a chemise."

"It's ugly," he said as he untied the drawstring on her first petticoat.

"I wish it was the ugliest thing I was wearing," Brennan giggled.

The second petticoat dropped, and Booth pulled her back against him. His new beard pressed into her shoulder and neck. Booth held her silently for a long time.

"Booth, I know I'm not very good at picking up on these things, but is something wrong?"

She felt his body melt against hers. She leaned back, and they were supporting each other. She couldn't help but think that Sweets would be proud.

"It was just a game today, but I relived some difficult moments."

"You seem to handle it so well."

"Yeah, overall, I do, but no one comes away untouched. It alters a person forever."

"Are you sorry it changed you?"

"Do you think I should be sorry Temperance?"

"You are who you are. I admire your courage and sense of duty. I think you're strong, but it didn't make you hard."

"I am who I am. I guess I'm okay with that. I missed you. I knew you were close by. I knew we were working the same case, yet I ached for you."

Brennan grabbed his hand and led him to the bed platform. She turned and hugged him, and he sat her down. He pulled the chemise over her head and got his first glimpse of the drawers. He pushed her back on the bed.

"What in the world are these things?"

"I told you I was wearing something uglier than the chemise."

"I'm sure to a nineteenth century man, these were beautiful." Booth laughed. "They're ripped," he said.

"No, that's how they're made. Otherwise, every time nature called, I would need to completely disrobe."

"You walked around like that all day?" He hovered over her and smiled in her face.

"It was terribly uncomfortable at times."

Booth kissed her, his tongue urgently separating her lips. She tried to keep up with him, but he moved quickly, consuming her. She tried to follow his lead, but he seemed directionless. Fabric rustled. Booth scooted her all the way onto the bed. Within moments he lay still, gasping in her ear.

"I'm sorry. That was selfish. I'm so sorry."

She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back.

"Well Sir, I believe a lady can be quite forgiving of her soldier who returns in a passionate, fevered frenzy."

He tried to detach, but she held him in place, and continued rubbing his back and hair. His breathing slowed.

"I'm sorry," he rasped again.

"I'm not. I consider this my opportunity to reach back in time and comfort you as a young soldier."

He propped himself on his elbows and tried to roll on his side. She continued to hold him tight.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"I told you already, I don't find you too heavy. Please stay here for a while longer." She squeezed him with her arms and legs, and stroked her fingers through his hair.

He relaxed. She drew circles on his temple.

"I don't know everything that happened in the desert, but I know you have a good heart. I know your motivation came from a good place. And I know your sense of duty kept you honest. You can doubt yourself if you choose, but I don't doubt you."

She softly scratched his back. Her heart ached, and she didn't know why.

"Well, I have to update reason number two that I know you love me."

"Tell me."

"A miracle. You reached back in time and comforted me when I was a young soldier."

After a few silent minutes, Brennan spoke up.

"Booth, I really need to remove these boots and awful stockings."

"I agree. And these drawers," he reached down and undid the drawstring, "handy maybe, but hideous."

Brennan laughed.


	11. Chapter 11

The Civil in the War

Chapter Eleven

Susan H.

Brennan combed her damp hair and waited for the microwave popcorn to finish. The trailer shook as Booth took his turn in the tiny shower. She poured the popcorn into a bowl and stretched out on the bed with a book.

Booth slid the door open, and stood with a towel wrapped around his waist, and steam engulfing him.

"It's so small in here. I'm flashing back to England, and the Austin we rented."

"You rented."

"No, I rented the Bond…nevermind."

"You shaved."

"Yeah, I felt grubby. What are you reading?"

"Reading Lolita in Tehran."

"Um, okay. Can you tell me what it's about in English?"

"Azar Nafisi, the author, was a professor in Iran, and after the revolution, she chose a small group of young female students to meet and read banned western literature."

"Oh, good, something light."

"How about you? Did you bring a graphic novel?"

"Cute, but I only read those in the tub wearing my beer cap."

Brennan closed the book and smiled.

"Yes, that's a fond memory."

"Good times," Booth said as he crawled into bed, filling the area with his soapy scent.

"So what's the next step with Marisol and Luther?"

"I'd like to question them separately. Luther had motive."

"Jealousy."

"Means,"

"A parasol that seems to match the murder weapon."

"and opportunity."

"Marisol said Luther returned the parasol to Thomas that night. Why is she with him? Amanda said she filed divorce papers. Yet here she is with him, and a new bruise."

"I don't know. Logic doesn't really function in abusive relationships. One reason they're called dysfunctional."

"I'll take your word for it. Do you suppose she was looking to Thomas to save her? She doesn't even know he's dead."

"Bones, we'll visit them in the morning. I'll call the local office for back-up, to take Luther in."

"Always the man-of-action," she said stroking his smooth face.

"Are you sure you don't prefer a man who reads more?"

"You read."

"Not in the scholarly fashion."

"Some people read the stories. You live the stories."

"You manage to do both."

"I'm a genius. I can't take credit. I was just born that way. And I have a helper."

"God?"

"I was thinking you, Booth."

"That's okay. Baby steps."


	12. Chapter 12

The Civil in the War

Chapter Twelve

Susan H.

The smell of brewing coffee and toast woke Brennan. She sat up and watched Booth burn his fingers on a freshly toasted bagel. She smiled as he buttered it and set it on a plate with a quartered orange.

She observed the fit of his jeans and how his shoulders shaped his t-shirt. His holster hung empty.

"Good Morning," he smiled, and brought her a cup of coffee. She set it on the headboard that doubled as a night stand.

"Thank you, good morning. Are we wearing civvies today?"

"Yep. I'd love to see you kick some Luther butt, and I don't think you can do it in a corset."

Brennan smiled, "O ye of little faith. I thought we were supposed to avoid violent confrontation."

"We are, but that doesn't stop a guy from hoping does it?"  
The microwave beeped. "Would you like some ham with your bagel?"

Brennan sipped the coffee, "No thank you."

Booth handed her a plate and sat beside her on the bed. Brennan breathed in the fresh citrus scent of the orange. She crunched into the bagel.

Birds chirped as they ate in silence.

"Thank you for breakfast Booth."

"You're welcome. I'll call for back-up while you get dressed, and we'll head over to Luther's trailer."

"Hodgins will need to test the parasol I bought, but I feel confident that a similar weapon was used to beat Thomas Kincaid."

"Yeah, best case is if we find the actual murder weapon. The back-up agents are bringing a search warrant with them."

***

Booth inhaled deeply when they stepped outside the camper.

"There's nothing like morning in the woods Bones. The air is clean, revitalizing, but also it's like, I don't know, ancient."

"You know many cultures worshipped trees. The ancient Celts for example considered the oak, ash and thorn to be particularly holy."

"Can you blame them? They got shade, shelter, fire, building materials and food from trees."

"Yes, and they also believed that fairies lived in the trees."

"You can't disprove that Bones."

"Are you actually willing to allow for the existence of fairies in order to argue the case for religion?"

"I'm not arguing for anything. My religion doesn't believe in fairies. I'm simply saying you can't disprove their existence."

The two heard yelling, and then a scream in Luther's trailer. The door whipped open, and Marisol appeared crying and bleeding. She tried to step out when Luther slammed his knee into her back and sent her flying. She landed in Booths arms, who took two steps backward to absorb the blow. He pulled Marisol out of Luther's path.

"Dios Mio. Dios Mio. He killed Tomas. Tomas is dead," she sobbed into Booth's chest.

Luther lunged down the stairs, holding a bloody parasol, and Brennan swung her foot into his abdomen, and yanked him down. He landed face down in the dirt, and the parasol flew from his hand. Brennan kneeled on his back and Booth threw her handcuffs.

Marisol went limp, and her head rolled back on Booth's arm.

"Marisol," Amanda yelled as she ran toward the trailer wearing only petticoats, a chemise, and a corset, which was still pounds more clothing than either Brennan or Marisol wore.


	13. Chapter 13

The Civil in the War

Chapter Thirteen

Susan H.

Booth carried Marisol into the camper, and Amanda took over. He exited to watch Luther, so Brennan could help Amanda. Backup arrived and radioed for an ambulance.

Brennan joined Booth.

"She's awake. None of her wounds are serious. She's talking to Amanda. Is Luther loaded up?"

"Yeah. Nice shot Bones." Booth smiled. "The local office brought us a car, and the ambulance will be here any minute."

"She's pregnant Booth."

"Do you think the baby was hurt?"

"She's not showing signs of miscarriage. It's only five weeks, so little could be done at this stage."

"Five weeks?"

"Yes, she claims Thomas is the father."

The ambulance arrived, and Amanda quit the trailer to allow the emergency techs enough room.

Amanda dabbed tears.

"Poor Thomas. We all liked him. He was a good boy, with a good head on his shoulders. I don't think anyone cared for Luther, but we tolerated him for Marisol's sake. She's such a fragile bird—we just wanted to help. What can you do though? What else could we do? We suspected trouble. We offered help. The other women and I let her know we cared. We tried to get her to tell us what was happening. What else could we do?"

"Nothing," Booth said. "There was nothing else you could do. You did more than most people would do. You did everything possible."

"Thank you Seeley," Amanda sniffed.

The paramedics came out of the camper.

"Agent Booth?' asked the first one.

"Yes?"

"She is refusing to go to the hospital. We cleaned and dressed her wounds. She seems fine, but we still think she should get checked out. We can't force her though. Call again if you need us."

The paramedics put the cot back in the truck. Marisol walked out of the trailer and down the steps.

"I am okay. I want to give a statement. I want to do this for Tomas. Do I have to go somewhere, or do we do it here?"

"Would you like to ride to the local FBI office with us?" Booth asked.

"Yes. Please."

"Oh, give me a few minutes to change. I'm coming with you," Amanda announced.


	14. Chapter 14

The Civil in the War

Chapter Fourteen

Susan H.

Marisol sipped water at a table. Brennan and Booth sat across from her. Booth had sent an unwilling Amanda to a waiting room.

"How are you feeling Marisol?" Booth asked.

"I am hurting sir. My heart is broken."

"Tell me what happened."

"Tomas and I became friends at the reenactments. He was so very kind. Five weeks ago, I filed for divorce. I was going to meet Tomas in West Virginia, and he was going to take me to his house, without ever telling Luther. We planned for Luther to receive the papers after I was gone."

"Did something prevent that from happening?"

"Yes, it was my fault. The last day, I went to Tomas' tent. He gave me a parasol as a gift. I stayed with him for a while, for the first time. Do you understand?"

"You had sexual intercourse with him for the first time," Brennan said.

Booth shifted.

"Yes. It was wrong, but I knew my marriage was over, the papers filed. Then I did a stupid thing. I left the tent, and sentimentally I took the parasol with me. If I had left the parasol, Luther would not have guessed. He saw me walking with it, and concluded that Tomas gave it to me. There were no sutlers selling parasols at this camp."

"So Luther assumed correctly, that the parasol was a gift from Thomas?" Booth asked.

"Yes. He grabbed it. He stormed off to return it to Tomas. He came back without it, and told me that Tomas packed up and left. I went to look for him, and his camp was gone."

"Did you try to contact Thomas after this happened?"

"Yes, as soon as possible, I called Tomas on his cell phone. It was the only number I had. I left messages, but he never answered. I filled his voicemail. I thought maybe he realized I was not worth it."

"What happened when Luther was served the papers?"

"I was surprised. He was calm. I guess he knew that I had nowhere to go."

"How about family? Couldn't you go home?"

"Agent Booth, my father raised me dependent on him. The only thing he made sure I was able to do was to speak and read English.

"My mother died when I was seven years. He told me I was marrying Luther, and when I was 18 years, I did. I believe I was a chip in a business deal. I never knew the details.

"My father knows the conditions I was living in. He told me to be a good wife, and things would get better. I have no skills, no family, and no experience. Tomas thought I was smart. He told me I could go to college."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Booth said.

"I stayed with Luther, but I would not let him touch me."

"You mean sexually," Brennan said.

"Yes, thank you. I am raised to not mention such things. Luther started to be very nice to me. This was not unusual."

"It's the cycle. Honeymoon, eggshells, explosion," Brennan said.

"Eggshells?" Marisol asked.

"It's an English idiom. You walk softly, as if on eggshells, so careful not to disturb the status quo. But it doesn't work, because eventually the violence comes, and then the honeymoon stage to convince you things will be better," Brennan explained.

"Yes, that is my life for four years. So, when I found myself pregnant, I knew the baby was Tomas'. I thought I would see him this weekend, and tell him, and he would change his mind and take me with him."

"What happened this morning?" Booth asked.

"Luther knew I was looking for Tomas. He didn't say anything until this morning. He became so angry with me. He believed that when I saw Tomas was not there for me, I would return to him. But I said no. He was screaming, and he grabbed the parasol from a cubby hole. I saw the blood, and I knew what he had done. He started beating me with it, and that is when I tried to run. You saw the rest."

"Marisol, you can sit with Amanda in the waiting room while we question Luther," Booth told her.

He gently walked her out and delivered her to Amanda's anxious embrace.


	15. Chapter 15

The Civil in the War

Chapter Fifteen

Susan H.

Luther glared at the agent guarding him in the interrogation room. He fiddled with his handcuffs, shifted repeatedly, and tapped his foot. The agent ignored him.

Booth entered the room, and the agent stepped out. Brennan followed Booth. Luther tried to stand, but Booth pushed him down by the shoulders.

"Whoa there Slugger, or the little lady will have to put you back in your place."

Brennan smirked.

She and Booth sat across from Luther.

"Luther, would you like to tell us why you are here?" Booth asked.

"I have nothing to say. I want a lawyer."

"That's certainly your right. That doesn't prevent me from telling you what I know about you."

Luther folded his arms and glowered.

"You are a coward. You play soldier. You beat your wife, who, I must say, is quite dainty, and defenseless. You carefully chose her for her dependence, and pressured her father into accepting you into the family. You killed Thomas Kincaid in a fit of jealously."

"Has my lawyer arrived?"

"Have you called him or her?"

Luther didn't answer.

"I also know that you proved to be no match for my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. I consider the name Temperance kind of ironic, don't you?"

"You know Booth, I wonder what set him off this morning," Brennan said.

"It's hard to tell Bones. This type of personality can be overly sensitive."

A knock at the door interrupted their banter.

"That, I hope, is your lawyer."

Booth opened the door and allowed a man in a suit to enter. He set a brief case on the table, opened it, and sat.

"What is my client charged with?"

"We haven't charged him yet," Booth said.

"What is he suspected of?"

"Murdering Thomas Kincaid five weeks ago at a Civil War reenactment."

"Oh Booth, you might want to mention his bloody and beaten wife this morning."

"Yes, and domestic abuse," Booth said.

"I don't believe that falls under federal jurisdiction."

"Well we can argue jurisdiction, but it all works out in the end," Booth said.

"My question is what brought on such a rage this morning?" Brennan said.

"Maybe Marisol told Luther she was carrying Thomas' child. Imagine, after only one time, she turns up pregnant. How long were they married? Four years?" Booth smiled.

"Well, from witness statements, Thomas was quite manly. Do you think that had anything to do with it?" Brennan continued the taunt.

Luther's hand shook.

"Luther, don't let them goad you. It's a tactic, say nothing." His lawyer warned.

"Go ahead and believe the whore. She committed adultery. Not exactly a squeaky clean witness," Luther said.

"Booth, I believe the forensic evidence will back Marisol's story. Can you charge him?"

"We have motive, means, and opportunity. Yes, I can charge him. You know, a confession might work to your benefit. A fit of rage, an unfaithful spouse. A jury could have mercy on you, or maybe the DA will work out a deal."

"I have nothing to say to the federal government."

"Well, I'm sorry, no remnant of the confederate government is available today."

"I believe I have enough Native American blood to be tried by an Indian Tribunal."

"We provide the evidence. We make the case. The lawyers do the rest." Booth said, and he and Brennan left the room.


	16. Chapter 16

The Civil in the War

Chapter Sixteen

Susan H

Brennan and Booth drove Marisol and Amanda back to the campsite in the borrowed bureau car.

"Agent Booth, are you sure the charges will stick with Luther. Will Marisol be safe?"

"We have a strong case, but now that we have the murder weapon, I have absolutely confidence that Bones, Temperance, will leave no room for doubt."

Amanda hugged Marisol, "Honey, you don't need to worry about anything, you can stay with Johnny and me as long as you need to."

"That is so kind Amanda. I don't know yet what to do. Maybe my father will let me come home now that Luther is in jail, and hopefully will be in prison for his whole life."

"Marisol, do you really want to return to a father who treated you as part of a business deal? It's evident he considered you such since birth. He raised you to be dependent and ignorant," Brennan said

"Bones!"

"No Booth, it's true. By ignorant, I don't mean stupid. I mean he kept you naïve, and purposely kept you dependent. I mean, if you are going to continue to live like that, you may as well wear your Civil War costume every day."

"Temperance, woman of the Civil War era weren't dependent or helpless," Amanda scolded.

"I understand that to a degree, but Marisol was raised in an atmosphere that prepares her better to live in 1860 than it does in the modern world."

"Bones, I think you need to soften your approach."

"No Booth. She's not fragile. She's not helpless. Marisol you aren't any of those things they told you, you were. You are a survivor. If you combine that with your intelligence, life can change for you."

The car went silent. Brennan pointed her chin stubbornly out her side window.

"I think Tomas would have liked you Temperance. He told me these things, and because he believed, I believed. Now I know that you believe too. I don't know why he should care about me. Surely there were women already at the place he offered to help me reach."

"I think he recognized your qualities Marisol. I believe he saw all that you could be, and was willing to patiently wait for you to come into your own. He probably felt honored to be a part of helping you blossom," Booth said and looked at Brennan who still stared out the window.

"Speaking from a man's point of view, we feel great when we can help fix things."

"I will let myself believe that Agent Booth. I know Tomas would not want his child raised as I had been, and if I go back to family, nothing will change. A daughter would be raised as I was, and a son would be taught not to respect women."

"That's not entirely true," Booth said.

"Booth, her father isn't likely to change. He coldly turned his back on his daughter who was being beaten and begging for help."

"No, but that is not her only family now. Thomas has a mother, and that means the baby has a grandmother. Which, by my calculation, makes Marisol related to Grandma by blood, one definition of family. She just lost her son. A new grandbaby in that big empty house would go a long way at comforting her."

"Agent Booth, do you think she would really want to meet me?"

"I don't think, I know. I called her. I didn't tell her about the little one though. I thought you should be the one to do that. She wants to meet you, and doesn't even know she's a grandma. That's a good sign."

"Yes, that is a very good sign. I will call her. She raised Tomas to be a great man. She will be a very good abuela.


	17. Chapter 17

The Civil in the War

Chapter Seventeen

Susan H.

Brennan and Booth left Marisol in Amanda's care, and packed their belongings. Brennan breathed deeply into her diaphragm and drew her shoulder blades together. Even a day after Booth liberated her from its grip, the corset's ghost still squeezed her torso.

Booth pushed open the camper door. The scent of wood smoke wafted in. Brennan snapped the latches on her suitcase. The camper trembled as Booth walked down the steps. He closed the door, and silenced the soft campground banter that had drifted in with replayed the satisfying moment her foot made contact with Luther. She remembered how each click of the handcuffs had popped in her hands. She rubbed her hands against her upper body. Yes, she was sure she could have taken him down in a corset.

The door rattled, and Booth filled the entrance.

"I built a fire. Would you like to sit with me?"

Brennan scanned the small space.

"I'm finished packing, so yes." She followed Booth outside.

The crispness in the morning air had mellowed as the day grew older. The overcast sky provided a fitting backdrop to the hushed conversations around her. She sat next to Booth, slipped her arm under his, and they laced their fingers together and held hands palm-to-palm.

Small groups of campers sat around similar fires. Some wore their costumes informally and loosened. Most wore modern clothing. Children reflected the quiet mood as they played.

"I suppose they've all heard the news," she said.

"Yeah, they cancelled all the reenactments."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

"Marisol? You mean will she recover from the tongue lashing you gave her?"

"You think I was too harsh."

"You were harsh."

"I was."

Booth squeezed her hand.

"I think she knows you meant well."

"You can't know if I was motivated by good intentions. I was angry at her for being helpless."

"It's hard to understand how a modern woman could be so sheltered and controlled, but that's what happened. Not everyone is made of the same stuff you are."

"I accept that she started at an extreme disadvantage."

"No argument? Now what are we going to talk about?"

"Another horrific crime framed by marriage?"

The wind shifted, and Brennan blinked smoke from her eyes. Booth covered the back of her hand with his free hand.

"My neighbor wanted to finish his basement and build a recreation room for his family. He hired a contractor to waterproof, but built the walls and laid the floor himself. That spring, the basement flooded and ruined a lot of his work. Should he have something against rec-rooms now?"

"That wouldn't be logical. He should have researched the contractor, checked references, and even had the work inspected before he continued the project."

"Exactly, he got the wrong guy to do the job."

"So, you think you're the right guy?"  
"I'm always the right guy," Booth smiled.

"Maybe I'm the wrong woman."

"I checked your references."

Brennan leaned her head against Booth's arm. She stared at his hands as they sandwiched and warmed her hand. She couldn't imagine them hitting her. And yet, she knew those hands could be violent. Those powerful hands, handling her so gently, reassured and comforted her.

"So my references checked out?"

"Well I took an average. Of course, there were some red flags."

"Red flags?"

"Yeah, you shot me. You knocked me flat on my back, at my own funeral."

"Well, you almost pulled me into a rumble with some psychotic clowns, and then you blackened my eye."

"We still owe Thumbles a good thrashing."

"On the other hand, you didn't lop off any of my important pieces with your knives."

"And you did give me your water on the Texas/Oklahoma border."

"I suppose it all averages out."

"I wonder where Thumbles and his thugs are now."

**This Story is continued in my next installment to the series: ****Blood on a Parasol.**** Thanks for reading. Susan**


End file.
